Inequity
by Lily and Shadow
Summary: He was an experiment. A model of what his creator had hoped for. The first Letter. The first success. The only real L. Companion to Anomaly, Lost, and Fallen. Name/series spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I'm reposting this hopefully for the last time. I've tweaked it and played around with it and I'm finally happy with it. This is the first story in a series called Letters that will be intertwined rather than sequential. The series will follow all five Wammy's boys, but each story will focus on only one boy. This one is L's. I'll put a note in the authors note to let you know what chapter each chapter is in the series. That's about it. Happy reading.

Thank you to cratermaker and merichuel for reviewing the first time around!

_Letters chapter number_: 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Death Note.

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_Inequity - (n.) an unfair circumstance or proceeding._

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The child was nothing like he had expected. Nothing at all. But then, he had not been prepared for the total devastation that he had witnessed upon his arrival in the war-torn German city of Düsseldorf. The sight had shocked the Englishman beyond words. Prior to the war, he had visited Düsseldorf and had marveled at the way it had been restored after the fall of Hitler and his army.

The once beautiful city now lay in ruins. On his way here he had gone through Old Town, taking stock of the way it had been ravaged by air-raids. The sight of the ruined church steeple stabbing jaggedly upward into the clear blue sky had finally brought him to realize that what he was seeing was real.

Certainly he had seen destruction before. He had been only a child during World War Two, but he still remembered the screaming of sirens and the rain of bombs. He could remember as well being packed onto a train and shipped out to the countryside to wait out the war with a distant aunt. But here was that devastation brought back in all its terrible glory. Never had he thought he would see such a sight again. Of course, that had been before the start of the third world war.

And so now here he sat, staring in wonder at this child and contemplating what had brought him here. He had never had children of his own. His wife had died very young and he had never remarried. And so he had decided to adopt. But not just any child. No, he was an inventor to the very end. This child would be something great. His dearest friend, Roger, had assured him that he was quite insane. Quillsh would show him just how wrong he was.

The child sat in a small room behind a two way mirror. There was an attendant of the orphanage there with him, looking for all the world like she might have been a Sister in the church with her grey dress and gentle gaze. The child, however, paid her no mind. Instead, he stared at the glass as though he could see the man standing behind it. His gaze was so piercing and shrewd that it was almost intimidating, given that the child was barely eight years old.

Eyes so dark they were nearly black peered from beneath an unruly mop of raven coloured hair. These, however, were the only signs of what he had been told was the boy's Asian heritage. The rest of his appearance was quite German. His dark eyes were huge and wide, his skin so pale it shown like snow. But there was a definite grimness to his appearance. His curious eyes were ringed in circles that were so dark a shade of purple as to be almost black. He had nothing of a normal eight year old's childish pudge. Instead, his cheeks were gaunt, his hands spidery, and his white shirt seemed to hang loose as a sail from his tiny frame. He was also short for his age, probably due to lack of proper nutrition during the war years. That, Quillsh had seen, was the case with many of these children. But in spite of his haunted look, this child was perfect.

His intelligence was visible in the way he studied the mirror, knowing though he had not been told that there was someone new watching him from the other side. He had been here before, for them to observe him. He knew the routine. They had tested and poked and prodded and watched for months now. He had been placed here because he was intelligent. Yet he had not spoken since his arrival, a fact which frustrated his caretakers to no end. They were wise enough to know that even a mute child could still be a genius, but they had begun to regard him as more of an idiot savant than the brilliant prodigy they had been assured he was.

He had shown an aptitude for math. That had been the first hint of his brilliance that they had witnessed. An affinity for numbers and patterns beyond anything any of the other children in the facility could imagine. At the age of eight and with only six months of work, the boy had already mastered a great deal of highly advanced mathematics, working in calculus, statistics, and theoretical math.

After his talent for math had been discovered, they had uncovered another interesting facet to the boy's peculiar brilliance. He was highly adept at languages. They had known from his file that he spoke fluently both German and Japanese. However, they had dismissed this fact, as he had not uttered a single word the entire time he had been in their care. He could read and understand, but he had never once spoken and only wrote occasionally, and so they had dismissed his being bilingual as a product of his life prior to losing his parents.

In fact, his gift for languages had been discovered entirely by accident. He had been left alone by one of his tutors in the library of the orphanage. She had returned to find him pouring over a text written in Polish. When she had inquired what he was doing, he had written her a simple reply in broken Polish: "I to read."

Still, they had thought that this was simply another manifestation of the boy's brilliance at recognizing patterns. But they had wanted to be sure. And so they had put him through several months of rigorous testing. New plans had been drawn for his future and there was a growing interest in the child among the staff. Then plans had changed again with a brief phone call from a Mr. Quillsh Wammy of Winchester, England.

In the months that followed, arrangements had been made by means both respectable and not. Mr. Wammy's rather notable financial pull had done a good deal of his talking for him. He would make a donation to the orphanage that would afford its upkeep for the coming year should he be allowed to take into his care their foremost prodigy, despite this being against the usual protocol. When his background had been examined and found to be reputable, arrangements were made for the boy to be released to him.

And so now here stood the man who was to take the enigmatic child from them. Several of the staff had expressed concern that a man who had never had children would be unable to handle the boy. But Quillsh had assured them that their worry was unfounded, that he would have the best of assistance in raising the boy. He recognized the child for what he was and wanted to make the most of that brilliance. L had been told of this for weeks, but that didn't stop him from being apprehensive about meeting his new father.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Hello all! Sorry for taking so long to come back to this. I just sort of stopped writing fanfiction for a while. That's about the only explanation I have. I started rewriting _Bell the Cat_ in the Fullmetal Alchemist fandom last summer, and now I'm getting back into Death Note fanfiction by revising the Letters series. Currently that consists of _Inequality_ for L, _Anomaly_ for Near, _Fallen_ for Mello,and _Lost_ for Matt, but I'm going to be adding a fifth story, called _Devious_, for Beyond.

_Translation note_: The title of L's book is Beyond Good and Evil.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed this the first time around!

**Disclaimer:**I do not own Death Note.

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The little boy sat silently on the seat of the train, staring up at the old man with a calculating expression. The man was older, that much the boy could tell for sure. He could also tell by his accent when he spoke to the attendant that the man was not German. He was also not Japanese. But he seemed to speak German well enough, so they may be able to understand each other. Not that it mattered. He'd just end up somewhere else in a few months. That was what had happened with every place they had ever sent him. He had thought this last orphanage would be his final stop – that was what the program directors had told him – but it seemed even that wasn't true.

That was where that particular train of thought stopped, derailed by a more pressing issue. While the old man wasn't looking at him right now, the boy was certain there had been something appraising in his look earlier. As though he had found exactly what he had been looking for. It was disconcerting on some level, mainly because he didn't know what to make of it. But more disconcerting still was the hushed conversation between the man and the orphanage attendant earlier that afternoon. The child hadn't been able to hear what was being said, but he knew they had been talking about him. The man knew he was intelligent and it seemed as though that had been the deciding factor in his selection. And that unsettled the boy even more.

When at last he directed his gaze out the window, it was dark. He was beginning to lose control of his thoughts. He could feel them slipping away into the haze of dizziness. He would faint soon. Everything was so much sharper now and his whole body ached. He wasn't exactly sure why he would have spells of lightheadedness and pain, but he had learned when to expect them. The attendant at the orphanage had given him something. It was nothing unusual, merely a glass of water. However, as had become typical when anyone important came to see him, it had tasted powdery. Shortly after, he always felt limp and tired. A few hours after, however, it was not uncommon for him to experience these headaches.

He fought hard against the impending darkness, mainly out of fear. He could hardly believe they had allowed this man to adopt him. He hadn't even spoken to the man. Then again, it had been quite a while since he had spoken at all. It seemed unnecessary. He could let them know if he needed something without speaking, could follow orders without speaking, and avoided being seen as strange. This last one was a mystery to him. Certainly he didn't speak like most children his age, but he wasn't sure why that bothered people so much. And now here he was, on his way to England with a man he had never spoken to.

He had, though, spend most of the previous week with the man. He was called Quillsh Wammy – a very odd name in the boy's opinion. Much of the week had consisted of paperwork and talking to attendants and watching the child watching him. It had been long and tedious and not altogether easy on either of them. And all of this found him here. He sat opposite the man, having flatly refused to sit beside him where he could not watch him easily. Perching oddly on his seat, his knees pulled up to his chest, he sat watching the old man warily as he read Frederick Nietzche's _Jenseits von Gut und Buse_. It was the one spoken request he had made at the last orphanage – the only time he had spoken at all – so one of the attendants had found a copy for him. He wasn't really reading it at this point. There was no need, as he had already read it twice, but it did give him something to do. Besides which, pretending to be engrossed in his book was a good way of hiding just how difficult it was becoming to maintain consciousness.

This along with two other books and a few articles of clothing were all of his possessions. They fitted neatly into a knapsack which was now sitting on the rack above his head. The books were the only things he was really attached to, so he didn't worry too much about his things. The only thing of any real value in that bag was his passport. He would be needing it soon. They were nearly at the German border and would have to get off at the station to show their passports before being allowed into Belgium. From there they would cross the English Channel to England proper. There, a car would meet them and take them to Quillsh Wammy's home in Winchester, near Southampton.

He had been a bit bemused by the passport when the man had first showed it to him. It listed his name as Lawliet Wammy. Though he had given consent, as much as an eight year old was permitted to give such consent, to have his name changed, it was still strange. But it didn't matter in the end. He wasn't even quite sure what his first name had actually been – he _knew_, but like with so many memories of his childhood, it just wasn't there – and he had only ever really been addressed by his surname in the orphanages anyway. So making his last name his first name and taking the surname of the man who was adopting him made as much sense as anything else. After all, it was only a name. What real difference did it make?

By the time they had nearly reached the Belgian border, he was so lost in his own mind and the all-consuming dizziness that he startled when the man across from him offered him a glass of water. Quillsh watched the boy's reaction with interest. Apparently he was better at making himself appear aware of his surroundings than he was at actually keeping track of them. Then again, this might have had something to do with Quillsh's own forgetfulness. He hadn't realized it was so late and because of that the boy would be suffering. The orphanage had informed Quillsh of the boy's special needs and of his situation prior to the deaths of his parents. And so, thinking the boy was watching, he had taken one of the tablets he had been given, broken it, crushed it, and mixed it into the water he was now offering to the boy. He was less than entirely sure how he felt about this, but it was better than seeing the boy suffer.

It was nearing eleven in the evening and Quillsh had noticed a steady drop in the temperature. This worried him because he had only just realized that the child had not brought a coat, indicating that he most likely did not own one. With everything else on his mind he had not thought to inquire whether or not Lawliet actually owned the coat Quillsh had seen him wear outside, or whether it was borrowed. Apparently it had been the later. He resolved to amend that when they reached Belgium.

Quillsh watched as the child took the cup from him, studied its contents for a moment with a resigned expression, and then drank it all in one gulp. Lawliet then turned his gaze back to the book held neatly on his lap, reaching out to set the cup about a foot from where he was perched. It didn't take long for the numbness to set in, weighing down the already oppressive dizziness and adding to the weakness in his limbs. When they finally stopped at the Belgian border, he stood to collect his things, and that was when the darkness finally took him.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Sorry the chapters are so short. Hopefully I can continue to update quickly. Thank you again to merichule and cratermaker.

_A/N2:_ Things in_ italics_ are in a different language.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Death Note.

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Lawliet wasn't as astounded by the house as Quillsh had expected him to be. Given the boy's previous circumstances, he had expected the child to be awed. Lawliet, however, barely reacted. It was odd behavior for someone so young, Quillsh reflected. Roger noticed this too and commented on it quietly.

"I don't like the look of him," the man hissed as he followed Wammy into the house. "He looks sick. Or disturbed. Something is definitely wrong with him."

Quillsh frowned, his mustache making him look much more severe than Roger knew him to be. "Don't say such things," he scolded.

"It's true," Roger replied. "Besides, you were talking with him in German in the car. What are the chances he's going to understand us?"

"Not high," Quillsh conceded honestly. "I was told he only speaks German and a limited amount of Japanese. Still, though, he can certainly understand tone well enough. So bite your tongue. As to his health, we'll discuss that another time."

Lawliet, meanwhile, stood quietly in the doorway, watching the two men with a blank expression. He had wrapped his arms around himself, fingers still toying with the fabric of the coat the man had given him and the straps of the knapsack that held all of his other possessions. While he didn't know what they were saying, he knew the man who had med them straight off the ferry did not like him. He wasn't surprised. Many people were put off by his appearance and he drove the rest away the moment he opened his mouth.

The man Quillsh Wammy was speaking with had been introduced to him as Roger Ruvie. Roger Ruvie, he had learned, was a close personal friend of Quillsh Wammy. Quillsh Wammy had only said something indicating that they were acquaintances. Lawliet, however, had ascertained by watching the way they interacted that they were much closer than that by observing how they interacted. Exactly how close, he couldn't be sure , as they were foreign and therefore might have different ways of showing closeness than what he was familiar with. He knew that much just from watching his mother and father. His father was German, his mother Japanese, so they behaved far differently with people they were close to. Often people had had trouble telling when his mother considered them to be close friends because of her learned ways of showing fondness. It might have been that they really weren't that close and that Englishmen were simply different, but he doubted it. But that was a matter for another time. Quillsh Wammy was speaking to him again.

"_Come, Lawliet. You must be tired."_

In honesty he was more curious than tired, but he followed obediently. He _had_ fainted on the way there. Resting was probably for the best. The house, he observed as he made his way through the corridors after the man, was very large, but it was not an isolating type of large. Instead, it seemed very warm and welcoming, if a bit formal. The décor was an interesting mix of various European traditions as well as a few things the child couldn't place. Torch style lights and large windows lit the halls in place of the harsh strip lighting of the orphanages. This place was much less sterile, much less cold. He knew it was foolish to let this lull him into a false sense of security, but it was difficult not to. As much as he knew he could trust no one but himself, a part of him really did want to believe that everything would be alright.

But things had never been alright before, so why should they start now? His memories of home were filled with the blurred faces of strangers, with bright lights and loud sounds, with uncertainty and fear. Things had been so chaotic there. The landscape of his childhood had been one of shifting dunes of bottles and wrappings and the like scattered amongst a forest of syringes. Every time he thought he had adjusted to the way things were, something changed. Though the workings of the house had frightened him, he had known there was nothing he could do about it. And so he had just kept his head down and done his best to survive.

He was drawn out of his thoughts as Quillsh Wammy stopped and opened a door near the end of the hallway. Lawliet was beckoned forward and shown the interior. There was a bed in one corner with clean, white sheets. Cream colored carpet covered the floor and white curtains hung over the windows. The walls were painted white as well. The only touches of color in the room were the dresser and the bedframe, both of which were dark stained wood.

"_This is to be your room,"_ the man said. _"You may change anything you wish. I do not expect that you will want to leave it white."_

Lawliet nodded, but did not speak. Instead, he merely stared at the man. There were no changes he could think of that he would like to make, aside from perhaps a different color that wouldn't remind him so strongly of the orphanages. Really, they had been closer to hospitals or perhaps even asylums than normal orphanages. But now, for the first time, he had a room of his own. For the first time this was really just his. For now, at least. He knew better than to count on anything remaining the same. Things around him had always changed too quickly.

"_Well, I'll let you get settled in, then,"_ Quillsh Wammy smiled warmly at him. _"I know it's late and neither of us has eaten yet. I will call you for dinner in about an hour. Try to get some rest."_

Lawliet nodded and stepped into the white room. Wordlessly he watched Quillsh Wammy close the door behind him. Home, the man had told him on the train from Germany to Belgium. This was to be his home now. And in spite of himself Lawliet was anxious to see how this new home would turn out.


End file.
